


A Million Lives

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wonders it every time, if this is the last time. Every last breath, every last sight and word and sound, every last moment holds him like the universe telling him to just wait; Sherlock will be there again and you’ll live through it again and this merry-go-round may never end, just John always chasing and waiting for a look in his eyes that never comes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remanth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/gifts).



> Inspired by this post-> http://noangelsinthegarrison.tumblr.com/post/65055845841  
> And this one-> http://dancingwithdancy.tumblr.com/post/63700488159/what-if-in-another-universe-i-deserve-you  
> Also my final Valentine's Gift for Remanth :)

At this point, John has lived a million different lives. He’s almost always there in someway, at some point: _Sherlock_. And how could he not be? He’s a big stain on his heart, a big imprint on his brain, and he isn’t surprised that with each new life he lives he ends up there.

The best lives are where they meet with enough time to do things, with enough time to fall in love with each other.

_“You’re in my seat,” his voice reaches John’s ears, looking up but already knowing who it is. He ignores the flutter in his chest and the pure happiness that weighs him down at his arrival._

_“It’s a Uni lecture, mate, didn’t realize there were assigned seats,” he replies, raising an eyebrow in his direction._

_“I like to sit in that seat,” Sherlock responds. “It’s the optimal placement for proper hearing and sight of the lecture; not to mention no possibility of distractions, not that any would deter me anyhow.”_

_“Ok,” John agrees._

_“I would really appreciate it if- ok?” he pauses, making eye contact with the shorter man in front of him. John feels a tug at his heart at the way Sherlock seems genuinely surprised, like he is so not used to getting his way, and John wonders the kind of life Sherlock lives in this life, the way he grew up, the friends he has._

_“Ok,” he repeats, moving a seat over and dragging his bag along with him._

_“Thank you,” Sherlock states, the words clearly foreign on his tongue but the gesture is not lost on John. “I’m Sherlock.”_

_“John,” he announces, reaching his hand out and shaking it. “Sherlock, do you like pubs, a pint maybe?”_

_“No,” Sherlock answers, not looking up as the professor finally begins speaking. John realizes he should have known that those words weren’t going to tempt Sherlock Holmes, that he wouldn’t be intrigued with some boring stranger in a lecture offering to buy him a beer. “However,” he whispers over, looking at John_ _pointedly, “I do like tea._ ”

John always remembers as soon as he sees his face, the memories rushing back like they had never been gone in the first place. Sometimes, he wishes he could go back to the before, just so he could live oblivious again, without the weight of the constantly increasing amount of lives that follow the two of them. But oblivion never lasts, not even in the lives where one of them doesn’t exist.

He hates those lives, he would much prefer killing him or only seeing him in passing because then there would still be a sight of him, but in some lives he is so heartbreakingly alone.

_John sits in his flat, staring at the blinking cursor from his computer and waiting for inspiration to strike. His life is dull, though, and writing about the quotidian way that is his life would make it that much duller._

_He begins to browse the web instead, just to get away from the blankness and emptiness of the page that consistently haunts him, when he sees an article about the latest case of DI Greg Lestrade; there is something about pills and a madman and how they were still searching for a good answer and it pulls at John like it’s happened before, like he remembers it from another life. The memories flood back and he searches the internet again, this time for Sherlock Holmes._

_There are zero results._

From time to time they live their absolute whole lives together, from childhood to death, and he begins to find that those are the most simultaneously stressful and peaceful lives he lives.  

“ _Sherlock Holmes, you have to listen to me!” John yells at his retreating back. Sherlock turns, a confused expression written all over his face._

_“John, we really don’t have time for this…”_

_“Of course we have time for this! I’ve loved you for my whole life and I need you to know I do. I need to know if you love me back.”_

_“John Watson,” Sherlock begins, words sputtering from his mouth and nonsense syllables while he, for one of the only times in his life, doesn’t have the exact right thing to say, “I- I need you.”_

_It isn’t I love you, not in the strict sense, but John is always the best at reading Sherlock, and he knows what he means._

There’s horror in the lives where he’s perfectly happy without him, but there’s some pleasure in those, too, because at least he knows he is living in bliss. It’s far worse when John lives happy with someone else, sometimes for years and years before catching some kind of glimpse of the man he truly loves. Those lives turn hollow quickly, because John Watson is always a man of obligation no matter what life he has lived, and he will count the days down until he can get a new chance, a blank page.

There are lives when he comes across him in complete disarray, his life falling down around him and he finds a strange sense of purpose in putting him back together, even if it is just as hard every time he does it.

_“John, JOO-HHHN,” Sherlock screams, his voice in agony. “Please, John, I just need a little.”_

_“No,” John tells him, moving toward him from the doorway. It hurts just looking at him writhing on the bed, his sweaty and pale face, the way he looks at him so desperately. “I can’t let you have any.”_

_“I hate you,” he spits, the words sending daggers straight into John’s heart, but he knows he doesn’t mean it, not really. “Go away! GO AWAY!”_

_“No,” he states again, the word cracking in the middle. There’s a burning behind his eyes that he knows will manifest itself no matter how hard he tries to push back the wetness that’s creeping into his eyes. “No,” he repeats, but this time it’s a promise as he moves toward the bed holding the whimpering man that he loves._

_John grabs his hand and whispers soothing words, praying and hoping that this time it might be that last time he has to see him like this._

He wonders it every time, if this is the last time. Every last breath, every last sight and word and sound, every last moment holds him like the universe telling him to just wait; Sherlock will be there again and you’ll live through it again and this merry-go-round may never end, just him always chasing and waiting for a look in his eyes that never comes.

Because what’s the point of remembering if you’re the only one who can remember it all?

_“Sherlock?” John pleads, his breaths coming out in soft gasps as his hand reaches, reaches, reaches._

_“I’m here,” he promises, threading his fingers between John’s._

_“Do you remember our first date? You were a whole two hours late because you were busy tailing Mr. Robertson...you were so sure there was something going on with him,” John remembers, releasing soft laughs that quickly turn to coughs. “I waited, though, I always wait for you…”_

_“John,” Sherlock says, and there’s such sadness in his voice that John has to look up at his face to see what’s the matter. There are tears streaming down it, something so rare for any timeline he has ever been in that it takes him back. “That wasn’t our first date.”_

_Oh, that would explain it, John thinks. Another life then, recent enough that he would confuse them under the fever he was currently dealing with, but not this one. He feels so ashamed, so full of agony that he would do that, that he would bring that unhappiness onto Sherlock, but his breaths are so close to his last that he can't seem to help it._

_“You never remember,” John sighs, “but it’s ok. I deserve it, I’ll live a million more until you remember.”_

_“John,” he pleads because the finality of the words he speaks. “I’m sorry I wasted so much time disliking you...we could have had so much more-”_

_“No, just...just hold me,” John begs, and Sherlock does._

A million more he lives, just like he promises. Some are so painful he almost ends them himself, some are so full of joy he never wants them to end, and some are just like life, a mixture of good and bad that swirl together and make him feel like it’s almost real. He lives all of them, though, always pushing through and hoping, hoping, _hoping_ for a glimpse of him, if only just for a second.

A million he lives, until one day he wakes up and he knows this one is different. He can feel it in the air, but he doesn’t want to hope because hoping is so very dangerous, but what else does he have to hang on to at this point?

_John meets Molly first before Sherlock, and he figures that’s a good sign in itself. There’s no way exactly to know what a “good life” will be, but the best ones usually have her in them. It’s a few weeks before he finally lays eyes on him, but as soon as he does he can feel that this is going to be ok. He isn’t high on drugs, isn’t a complete arse (more than usual, that is), and he isn’t so completely different he’s already off and married to some Mary Jane with a liking for normal and a slightly above average IQ._

_They live together because they both need flatmates and it’s almost like the first time around, going off on adventures, solving crimes, the horrors and the ups and the downs and the whole freakin’ gang and it’s so great John would be happy if this was the last one, he thinks, because this is how it should be._

_The only problem is Sherlock is stubborn, so very much so, and he doesn’t detect a single signal. He’s oblivious, and John is afraid to say “I love you” because there’s something so precious about this life he doesn’t want to mess it up._

_“Sherlock,” he blurts one day while they’re picking up takeout, “I’ve got a date later.”_

_“And how is this different than normal?” he asks, turning with a raised eyebrow._

_“I- I don’t know,” John stumbles, nodding slightly to himself. “Do you...mind?”_

_“You are not my property, John,” Sherlock states matter of factly._

_“Do you want me to be?” he asks, the words bursting out of him before he can stop them. “I mean, I’m not chattel, obviously, but do you want something or, bugger, this wasn’t what I wanted it to be like...Do you want-”_

_“John, please speak more concisely,” he cuts him off. John tries to see his face to see what he’s thinking, but he’s looking to the side and they’re at a weird enough angle that he finds it difficult to get a proper look._

_“Sherlock, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m trying to say,” he sighs. “I’m sure you can read me by my dilated pupils and increased heartbeat or whatever.”_

_Sherlock stops all movement and looks toward John, the kind of look John would usually call a win but there’s something dangerous about it that makes him feel anxious at the sight of it. “You mean to say, do I have feelings of a romantic interest in you?”_

_It feels like a million lives pass just in the span of silences that follows his words and his actions begin. There’s a questioning, careful step forward and then his delicate hands find the side of his face. Their lips meet in the middle, a clash of the kind of love that always seems to follow them no matter what life they live._

_Sherlock steps back with a gasp and his eyes narrow at John. “I- I remember.”_

_“Remember what?” he questions hopefully._

_“All of them, every single one,” he answers, and then the takeout is dropped on the ground as he approaches again, this time the kiss something entirely different but equally as exciting._

John and Sherlock live a million years together, John remembering and hoping for the day that Sherlock will remember until, one day, he does. And then they live a life with a million stuffed into it, filled to the brim with the memories and feelings and wants and desires of every single life already gone by.

It’s their last life together, but they don’t mind. Not one bit.


End file.
